


Foresight

by aishahiwatari



Series: Senses [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: And JARVIS is still there, And they're all friends, But Matt's okay with it, But Steve is still Captain America, Can I say that about my own work?, First Date, Getting Together, Humor, I don't think they've ever actually met, I mean always but more than usual here, I'm Sorry, Kind of after Civil War, M/M, Matt Murdock is super hot, Not Beta Read, Not sure where this goes in the Avengers timeline, Some of them are jokes about being blind, Very vague Daredevil S2 spoilers, Yeah I really screwed that up, i guess, not sure where this came from
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 09:22:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9541352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aishahiwatari/pseuds/aishahiwatari
Summary: When Tony needs some company at a potentially risky dinner meeting, Sam is volunteered to go with him. And he's told to bring a date, one who can handle the potential firefight that may or may not ensue.Maybe it wasn't a good idea to bring somebody he actually liked.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this contains vague spoilers for Season 2 of the Daredevil series. Just a few Punisher-related comments that might take the edge off it for you. 
> 
> Unbeta'd. Any mistakes or stray British-isms are my own.

It had seemed like such a good idea at the time. Tony had scheduled a meeting with the leader of a rival corporation and Steve was all ready to go along as a companion and a little extra muscle. Apparently Tony was worried that after the discussion of business and a few glasses of wine, somebody would try to blackmail, kidnap or murder him. When it had been brought up in a team meeting, Sam had exchanged a look with Clint that expressed a shared distinct lack of surprise. One of more of those things seemed to happen to at least one them on a regular basis, and Tony was the most popular target.

He did have more useful skills than any of the rest of them, except possibly Thor, when it came to the much-prized ability to murder large numbers of people. But nobody was about to try kidnapping Thor.

Then, Steve had to cancel. Something had come up involving Hydra, and his seventy year old intelligence was better than nothing, so off he went to Europe to talk about the war. Natasha went with him.

Sam thought nothing of it until he was cornered in the kitchen by Tony and cordially invited to come along instead.

“Honestly, it'll be fine. Fun, even. Lord Makepeace is an old friend who haven't tried to kill me for at least ten years. This is a sort of tradition. To celebrate the truce. So I can't exactly go bringing the suit with me. That would be aggressive. But if I introduce them to my friends, then they make more contacts; the conversation doesn't run out; and we present a wider target, so we have some chance of defending ourselves if anything goes wrong, which it won't.”

“Why can't you just tell them you can't go?” Sam was still not used to Tony’s quick-fire style of briefing, was still just catching up with the beginning of what he had said.

“Because that would be rude. They're British. It would be like killing their first born child. It just isn't done. Look. It will probably be fine, I just want another set of eyes. And, well- any information you can get out of him about his business would be genuinely useful, but don't quiz him, like you're trying to learn anything. And maybe bring a date, because otherwise people might get the wrong idea about you.” And Tony winked, with a grin and a surprisingly convincing leer.

“Just about me?”

“Oh, they already have all the wrong ideas about me, I've spent years cultivating this image. But you are a fresh face. So yes. Bring a date. One who probably won't piss their pants in a firefight. Maybe they'll even hold their own. Thursday, eight o’clock, the limo will pick you up from wherever, just tell JARVIS, and… that's it. Any questions?”

“What should I wear?” was all Sam could think to say.

“Jacket. Tie. Nice dress- for your date. Do you need a suit?”

“I have a suit.”

“Good. I'll see you then.” Tony paused, a fractional hesitation that wouldn't have seemed significant in anybody else, looked anywhere that wouldn’t require eye contact. “Thanks, Sam.”

At that, Sam couldn't help but smile. “No problem, Tony.”

Of course, it was a problem. Sam had gone through his phone book and come up with precisely nobody who would be available; looked good in a dress; was able to hold their own in a fight and who wouldn't be thoroughly, unspeakably dull. They needed to be capable of holding a conversation at least. If Tony was there with some business contact, Sam would need to be able to talk to somebody while they waxed poetic about robots or nanites or something. With that as his only criteria, he had a few options. The firefight ruled some out, but not many, because most of his friends were Forces of some description. With the dress aspect in mind, he made his first call.

“Sam! Wow, I haven't heard from you since- well. You know.”

“I know. How are you, Cassandra?”

“Good. What do you need?”

“Maybe I just want to talk to you.”

“Maybe the sun shines out of my ass. Try again, Falcon.”

Sam sighed, hung his head. He hadn't meant to be quite so direct, “I have a thing. Thursday. I thought maybe you'd like to be my date.”

“Like an Avengers thing?”

“Like… a Stark Industries thing.”

“Ugh-” Cassie said although Sam didn't think he'd been meant to hear it. “No, I'm sorry, Sam. I can't cancel what I'm doing. It was just wishful thinking in the first place. It's an award thing for- oh! You remember Mike? The Stallion?”

“I do remember, yes.” Sam wished he didn't.

“Well yeah, he got his legs blown off in Afghanistan so they're giving him like the Victoria Cross or something because he stopped a truck from blowing up an orphanage. Think he'd rather have a job, but what can you do.”

“Yeah, well. Tell him I said congratulations. Actually, don't. Don't tell him I said anything.”

“Deal. I'll see you around, Sam. Enjoy your date.”

Sam hung up, a little more violently that was necessary. Perfect. Mike had been a part of his old unit, so it was likely every woman he knew was going to be at that ceremony. Still, he needed to bring somebody, and he’d never been one to rule out anything a little risky. He had an open mind, and occasionally questionable thoughts about certain people.

“JARVIS,” he said to the ceiling, because he had to look at something.

“Airman Wilson,” came the reply, and Sam wondered for a moment if talking to Lord Makepeace would be anything like talking to JARVIS. That wouldn't be so bad.

“This place I'm going to with Tony on Thursday- do you know if they'd have any problems if my date were male?”

“The Welsh Harp prides itself on being an inclusive and welcoming establishment. As long as you are polite and able to pay for your meal, I would not anticipate any problems.”

“Thank you, J-”

“Although with that in mind, you may wish to speak with Agent Barton in relation to the preferences displayed on your internet dating profiles.”

Sam took a break from his conundrum to go and beat something resembling sense into Clint.

He returned with the beginnings of an idea. He wouldn't say that Clint had inspired him, exactly, but a new pathway in his mind had certainly opened up when he had been shown the selected shortlist of eligible women. None of them would be much good in a firefight, but they were attractive and they were more than capable of wearing dresses. Clint had been in a headlock while explaining all of this, but he had gasped out that they were members of respected professions. Teachers, civil servants, doctors, lawyers. 

Sam wouldn't have thought about it, either, because the number wasn't in his phone. It was on a business card that had been handed to him at a Police Station when he had been helping out with a high-profile case. It had been before he found out a lot more than either of them had bargained for about the man who gave it to him, but he thought it was reasonable to believe the offer still stood. They hadn't exactly fallen out. Even after they had run into each other a few day later and Matt had been wearing an entirely different kind of suit and Sam had been so stunned he had maybe fallen out of the sky and landed on some nameless villain. The guy was fine, just a couple of broken bones. Fewer injuries than Matt himself had inflicted on some of the others. He stared at the card for a few moments, traced the raised bumps on the back with his thumb.

He dialled with fingers that couldn’t possibly be shaking, “Hey, it’s Sam. Sam Wilson. We met at the Police Station- although you probably spend a lot of your time there and it’s a pretty common name-”

“I remember.”

Oh, God, and Sam remembered too. That voice, low and smooth like the source always knew something you didn't, the effortless edge of confidence and authority.

“Are you- free to speak?” He asked, because the last thing he wanted was to intrude.

There was a small, amused hum, “I don’t answer my phone if I’m not.”

Sam let out a long, slow breath, “Good to know.”

“Did you need something?” Matt still sounded amused, and he really did know something Sam didn’t. Apparently that something was how not to sound like an idiot on the phone. He was probably used to it. Probably called more than most people. Listened more, too.

“I just wondered if you were doing anything Thursday night.”

“I had nothing planned.”

“Would you like to have dinner with me?”

Silence. Sam wasn’t sure whether to feel triumph or deep, crippling embarrassment at the fact he’d rendered him speechless. After a moment, he worked up the nerve, “Are you still there?”

“Still here. I was waiting for the rest of the question.”

Sam grimaced, “I’d forgotten you do that. It doesn’t have the same effect when you’re not looking at me expectantly.”

A huff of amusement, “Well, now you know how I feel.”

Sam’s brain unhelpfully supplied that yes, he would quite like to know how he felt, but possibly in a very different context to the one in which the sentence was intended, “It would be dinner. With me, and-”

“There it is…”

“With me and Tony Stark. And his date. And some British Lord who owns a rival company and probably won’t try to kill, kidnap or blackmail Tony.”

A sigh, “I’m not much good with blackmail.”

Sam grinned, “Odds are still two against one. And it might never happen. Might just be a lovely, expensive meal somebody else is paying for.” He cringed, awaiting the final blow of rejection. It wasn’t exactly the best offer he’d ever made. And he knew that, regardless of how well their first couple of conversations had gone, Matt wasn’t exactly short of offers. And he might be worried that Sam knew a little too much about him. Probably wanted to keep his work and personal life completely separate.

“Alright. Thursday.”

“Great! I’ll, uhh- I could do with speaking to you before we go, did you want me to come to yours-”

“I’ll come to you.”

Sam smiled, “Should I expect a knock on the door, or will you parkour onto the roof?”

“Well I wouldn’t want to crease my suit.” Matt smiled, Sam could hear it in his voice, and then hung up. Unfortunately, that didn’t entirely answer his question, so he warned JARVIS to expect somebody and kept himself too busy all of Thursday to worry about it. The kitchen was sparkling by the time Matt materialized in the doorway, looking impeccably presented, somehow, a suit bag slung over his shoulder.

“Found it alright?” Sam asked, with a grin, as though anybody could miss the tower.

“I took a cab.” Matt smiled, shrugged.

“Come on. I’ll take you up to my- floor.” Sam didn’t often have visitors over, had forgotten how ridiculous it sounded, but Matt just nodded, gestured for him to lead the way. He followed steadily but slowly, occasionally brushing his fingers against the walls or furniture, pausing with interest at one of Tony’s control panels and examining it in his strange way, with a tilted head.

“This building is loud,” he said, by way of explanation as they neared the lift.

Sam frowned, “Sounds totally silent to me.”

Matt shook his head, “There’s no ambient noise from outside, but- everything here echoes. The electricity through the walls, the humming of the air conditioning...”

“JARVIS, Steve’s floor, please.” Sam said as they stepped into the lift, ignoring Matt’s curious expression until they stopped and stepped out, “Is this better?”

Matt took a deep breath, and let go of all the tension Sam suddenly realized he had been holding on to. “Yes. Thank you.”

“I don’t even notice, but- Steve says he can hear buzzing sometimes. Gives him headaches. It’s the serum, I think. Enhances his hearing. He won’t mind us being here.”

Matt nodded, scanning the place. His eyes didn’t focus, but Sam got the impression he was taking in more than anybody else would. He knew he was, in fact. He’d seen Daredevil fight, still couldn’t quite believe they were the same person. He wouldn’t have, if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes. It would seem more feasible, somehow, if Matt weren’t really blind, but Sam had experience of enough superpowers to know that they worked in mysterious ways. If Matt told him he was blind, he wasn’t about to question it. He just wished he knew him well enough to be able to tell when he needed help and when he didn’t.

“Can I use the bathroom?” Matt asked, and Sam nodded before reminding himself to speak.

“Sure. It’s the first door on the right, if you follow the wall on your left down the hall. Probably leave the door at the end, though, that’s the bedroom.”

He was about to ask whether Matt needed any guidance, but he had wandered off with his fingers just briefly brushing the walls, apparently capable of doing it himself. Sam guessed he had to have figured out how to use the bathroom at some point over the years.

“I’ll just grab my suit, I’ll be back in five,” he called, consciously trying to be loud enough without being too loud, aware that Matt could have heard him if he whispered. He could hear him breathing, his heart beating, the electricity in the walls. He walked out, trying not to think too much about it but failing. He had showered about an hour before, held back on the cologne. His suit had been dry-cleaned, but he didn’t think it smelled like anything. He was probably worrying too much. Matt had been on dates before, with people who didn’t know about his abilities, with women who smelled of all sorts of things.

Sam took a deep breath and a last look in the mirror. It was ridiculous how nervous he was. And it was ridiculous why he was nervous. He was going to dinner with a potential murderer, Tony Stark and a blind man who could almost read his mind. Nothing weird about that.

 

“We are about to come out as a gay, interracial, disability-positive couple.” Matt mentioned conversationally during his third attempt to tie his necktie, the last one before Sam just batted his hands out the way and did it for him. He hoped Matt wouldn't notice him shaking, knew that he would. Still, his voice was almost steady.

“Yes we are.”

“Do you not think, in our line of work, that might be a problem?”

“I asked the Captain first,” Sam lied, because of course it was a problem. But he didn't really see any way around it and if Matt had any better ideas, he wouldn't have agreed to come.

“I wasn't even your first choice?”

Sam smirked, even though nobody would see it, at the affected hurt in Matt’s voice. “I knew you weren't serious.”

“Are you sure that other soldier friend of yours won't mind?” Matt raised his eyebrows, an expression that made him look stunningly, misleadingly innocent until Sam realised just what he’d said.

“Other- what! Bucky? No, it’s not like that. We do not have a thing. There is no thing. I'm not even gay!”

“Sam, I’m blind, and I still noticed some sort of thing.”

“Yeah, but you're not like… real blind. You can do the heart rate thing, and- oh, God. Am I gay?”

“Don't ask me. I'm a lawyer, not a therapist.”

“Let’s just get this over with.”

“Don't worry. I'll have more people than just you questioning your sexuality by the end of the night.” Matt smirked, even though he couldn't possibly have seen himself in a mirror recently and as such must have had no idea that it made him look outrageously hot.

Sam sighed, and offered his arm. Simultaneously, he realized that Matt wouldn't be able to see that he was doing it, and that of course he would know anyway. “Are you sure you're not a supervillain?” He had to ask.

“Almost. Treat me like I'm "real blind", please.”

That would be far easier if Sam weren't looking into gorgeous eyes that seemed to focus right on his. But he hadn't chosen Matt because he would make the evening easy. A blind man would have been a hindrance. As it was, Sam was just worried that he was the one who wouldn't be able to keep up.

 

“You’re Matt Murdock? From the Punisher case?” Crystal was gorgeous, slim, blonde and her voice had a rising inflection at the end of every sentence, so they sounded like questions even if they weren't, and rose to a pitch only dogs could hear when they were. It was grating on Sam’s nerves, so he had no idea what it was doing to Matt’s senses, but Matt managed to respond with an unwittingly charming, bashful smile.

“Yes, that's me.”

“That's how we met, actually,” Sam thought he managed to insert some affection into his tone as he just brushed the edge of Matt’s hand with his and received an answering smile in return, “I was helping with some of the area searches, and we ran into each other at a Police Station. Bonded over terrible coffee.”

“It tastes so much worse to me,” Matt interjected, and they hadn't rehearsed this but they might as well have. It wasn't even entirely untrue.

“Yeah, you said. Multiple times, until I took the hint. Good thing I know all the 24 hour diners that serve real coffee.”

“And that you can fly without spilling.”

Oh, that smile. Sam was doomed. Across the table, Tony was staring at them like they had both lost their minds. Sam felt as though he had. He was amazed Matt could hear anything over his heart repeatedly attempting to leap out of his chest.

“Well, amongst all that, I hope that you managed to put the fiend behind bars.” Lord Makepeace chimed in, cheeks a little flushed and his wine glass significantly emptier than it had been previously.

“Actually, I was his defense attorney.” Matt said gently, but firmly, “I believe he was a victim of circumstance, and even if he weren't, he deserves a fair trial as much as anybody else. There are some who would have denied him. I couldn't let that happen.”

“Wow…” was the entirety of Crystal’s wide-eyed input. 

“You're a lawyer, then.” Lord Makepeace had leaned forwards in his seat, his gaze intrigued and a little predatory, fully engaged in the conversation while Matt looked a little surprised by the attention.

God, Matt was perfect. For the role. That he was playing. Sam looked a little desperately to Tony, who was fussing over Crystal’s empty wine glass and waving down a waiter while his eyes gave him away. They were hard and focused as he worked on understanding what was happening, and as he turned them on Sam he looked almost guiltily back. Tony gave him the tiniest nod. Sam raised a questioning eyebrow at Crystal, and the corner of Tony’s mouth quirked before he did the same, more pointedly, at Matt. Sam exhaled through his teeth in what was almost a growl of warning, and Tony laughed obnoxiously at something Crystal had leaned over to whisper in his ear.

Sam settled in to fume silently for a while, took a sip of his wine and nearly spilled it down his shirt when Matt’s foot hooked around his ankle without his speech faltering in the slightest. It was a little forward, totally unnecessary and Sam smiled to himself for so long his cheeks started to hurt.

It all went swimmingly until they had finished dessert. Sam could at least be grateful for that, because his vanilla cheesecake had been entirely worth it even before Matt, in his infinite genius, had ordered the chocolate gateau and Tony spent the following five minutes toying with his tiramisu while he resisted making a vaguely racist joke. Crystal claimed his leftovers after a quick glance to make sure Lord Makepeace was still wholly engaged in staring at Matt. Sam hadn't credited her with so much subtlety, but there had to have been a reason Tony chose her after all.

Brandy and coffee were offered next, and Crystal excused herself to apparently powder her nose. She gave Tony's hand a quick squeeze as she went, and he let his gaze slide down over her figure as she walked away with only a boyish grin to meet Sam’s stony expression.

“Oh, leave the bottle. And the pot,” Tony winked at the waiter as he brought them over, although he didn't down his first cup of coffee the instant it was poured like he usually did at home, Sam noticed. Something was up, and he was wholly ready with Matt at his side and enough faith in Tony that he could deflect anything for long enough for one of them to get in the way. He shifted in his seat but tried not to give away his tension.

“A toast,” Lord Makepeace proposed, raising his brandy glass and looking at them all expectantly until they did the same, Sam prompting Matt with a guiding touch to his wrist that shouldn't have sent heat flooding through his skin, “to a lasting understanding between us. To healthy profit margins. And the proper interpretation of the law.”

He nodded at Matt with his last, although of course he received only a curious head tilt in return.

“I am sorry about this, Tony,” the Lord continued, though, just before all the lights went out. And it was all of the lights. Even the ones out on the street seemed to have failed, and there was no illumination at all. Sam might as well have had his eyes closed. Might as well have been blind. All around the room, he could hear panicking civilians and authoritative voices with clipped British accents. There was more than one sound of flesh making brisk contact with flesh. Matt was out of his seat, nothing there but empty air as Sam grabbed for him, no idea where he was but he was at an advantage, wasn't he? He could sense the entire room more clearly than Sam could when the lights were on.

So why did every pained gasp sound like his? As Sam moved around the table to grab hold of Tony and pull him away from the worst of the chaos, the noise began to ebb until it seemed all that was left was labored breathing. At least the civilians were out of the way. Sam wished he had his suit. Even without being able to fly properly, he would at least have had the propulsion and the power behind it. Without any of that, he felt helpless. He couldn't even imagine how Tony must feel.

When the lights suddenly bloomed back into a new source of blindness, Sam blinked away the spots clouding his vision, desperately looking around for any signs of movement and putting himself between Tony and the closest source. Then he stopped breathing. The source was Lord Makepeace, and he held Matt by the hair, a blade pressed against his neck. Sam took a quickly aborted step forward, registered Tony’s steady hand against his back and he knew. Matt was not helpless. They could get out of this, he just had to wait for the right moment. He had to believe that.

It was still disconcerting seeing him there, unfocused eyes flitting, fingers twitching, breathing carefully steady despite how his heart must have been racing. For once, Sam was glad he couldn't hear it. He didn't think he would have been able to stand it. For a guilty moment, he wondered why it couldn't have been Crystal. He had to shake his head to clear it of such terrible thoughts.

“What is it you want?” Tony was asking, and he may not have realized it but he had a serious voice every bit as intimidating as Cap’s, when he chose to break it out. It sounded strange without the edge the suit usually gave it. Sam looked away for long enough to know that none of the black-clad henchmen standing around were coming any closer, before he locked on once more to Matt.

“To come to an agreement. I just thought you might require a little extra convincing. I know how much you love an innocent bystander.”

Tony radiated rage. Sam ground his teeth. And he could have sworn that Matt rolled his eyes briefly before the grip on his hair tightened and he went back to his fidgeting. Except Matt didn't fidget. And he was doing it in sets of three. His left hand. His gaze off to the left, somewhere in the distance. There were five other men in the room. Sam really, truly hoped that meant Matt could take out three of them, because he didn't think much of his own chances against those odds. It wasn't like he could get a message to Tony without anybody noticing. That would have to do. He had no idea if there was anybody waiting outside to back them up, but Matt did. He would just have to trust him.

The weirdest thing was that he did. That couldn't be healthy, surely. He'd only met the guy twice before. Tony and Lord Makepeace were still talking, and Sam wanted to scream at him just to agree, to say whatever he wanted to hear if it meant they would all get out of there alive. It was soul-destroying, pushing that urge down, bringing back the calm that overtook him in the field. Trying not to think about what was at stake.

Matt whimpered as an increasingly heated exchange made the Lord’s hand tense, the blade drawing drops of blood that trickled down his neck. The conversation stopped, though, one party amused and the other outraged by his suffering. Sam knew that was his chance. He really hoped he had read it correctly.

“Matt, I'm so sorry,” he blurted, and suddenly the attention was on him. Amazingly, he was allowed to speak. Lord Makepeace seemed pretty convinced of his advantage. Typical villain.

“It's okay, Sam. It's not your fault. I'll be okay.”

“I- no. I guess it's not. I'm still sorry.” It was the closest Sam could come to acknowledgement without giving their communication away. And it meant he got to apologize, too, just in case the whole thing went wrong. The closest guy to him was just the other side of the table, but the next was a good few strides farther and they had guns.

“This is very sweet-” was all Lord Makepeace managed to condescend before Matt smashed his head back into his nose, lifted both feet to set them against the edge of the table and launched them backwards. Sam couldn't watch, for many reasons, the foremost being that he had grabbed the almost-full coffee pot from the table and smashed the closest henchman around the head with it. He threw it, wishing suddenly that he had taken Clint up on those marksmanship lessons, at the second guy and while it rebounded off his chest rather than hitting him in the face, it did empty scalding hot coffee all down his front and sent him reeling back. It was long enough for Sam to close the difference and punch him, hard, where he had been aiming before and to see the third guy slumping, unconscious to the floor. There was the clatter of thrown cutlery against the marble tiles. A quick glance told him the other two were already down and he took an instant to just breathe before he was on his feet again.

He launched himself at Matt, only vaguely recognizing that he was standing, dusting off the sleeves of his shirt, a thankfully small patch of red blooming at his collar. He blinked, apparently surprised when Sam grabbed him by the shoulders.

“Oh, don't give me that,” Sam insisted, his patience worn thin until the genuine smile he received in response just melted his heart and he sagged in relief, head hung.

“I'm okay, Sam. I've- had worse.”

“That's not as reassuring as you think it is.”

Matt leaned in to murmur, “I didn't know you cared.”

“Next time just ask,” Sam requested, his smile completely involuntary, “I'm smiling. You can't see it, but I am.”

“I can hear it,” Matt assured him.

“I am so fucking confused.” Tony announced, throwing his hands up as Crystal emerged from the restrooms. Her long, sequin dress was torn, with a couple of questionable stains across her chest. A bruise purpled her cheekbone.

“Six men outside have been disabled,” she informed them in low, level tones and an accent that wasn't quite British. “Shield agents will be here shortly.”

“Is there any more coffee?” Tony asked, with a rueful glance at the spilled pot and the mess that had been their table.

“The cups on the table to your left are untouched.” Matt noted, and his conviction was sufficient for Tony to only hesitate a moment before going and downing the first cup, muttering to himself about heathens who didn't know to conduct business after the coffee came round. Crystal made the rounds of the room with a set of impenetrable StarkCuffs for every unconscious henchmen, each arranged vaguely in the recovery position with pushes of blood-spattered stiletto heels.

Belatedly, Sam realized he was still holding on to Matt’s arms and let him go, brushing self-consciously at his suit pants. Amazingly, they had come through the experience unmarred. Matt leaned into him for a moment, and Sam half-raised his hands to steady him when he heard the slosh of the brandy bottle in Matt’s outstretched hand and felt foolish. He stepped back and staggered into a seat before he could make any more of an idiot of himself.

“So, are you not really blind?” Tony asked then, because apparently he'd met that days quota for tact. He was sat on the neighboring table, swinging his legs, sipping at his coffee. 

“I'm really blind,” Matt assured him, with a swig from the bottle he then offered to Sam, who took it gratefully. A couple of large gulps set him up to hand it back without even jolting at the way their fingers brushed when he did. “My other senses are enhanced, so I'm quite capable. But I can't see.”

“You ever thought about being an Avenger?”

Sam held his breath.

“I've thought that it's not for me.”

“Shame. Well. I imagine you'll be around.” Tony's bright eyes met Sam’s, unfazed by the returning glare.

“Well, it would be rude not to. When my date took out five guys who were threatening me.”

Sam didn't look up, but he could hear Matt’s smile and when he took the bottle shoved into his eye line, he took only a small sip to fortify himself against the imminent SHIELD debriefs. Tony breezed through them and they mostly left Matt alone because he couldn't possibly have seen anything and he definitely exaggerated how traumatized he was, but Sam was exhausted by the end. He just wanted to crawl into bed and not think about anything for a few hours before the enormity of it all hit him full force. 

When he finally emerged into the street, he was amazed for a moment that everything looked normal. It wasn't even that late, maybe eleven o’clock. There were a few people milling around, leaning over the crime scene tape to get a glimpse of action long-since over. One of the restaurant windows was broken, the glass being swept up by a waiter in a slightly ripped shirt, the only lasting sign that anything had occurred. Even the SHIELD cars were black, devoid of flashing lights, idling with intentionally nondescript drivers waiting by them. Not-Crystal was chatting with one of them, dressed in SHIELD gear, her blonde hair tied back in an efficient bun.

“Share a car with me?”

Sam didn't even have the energy to startle as Matt slipped out of the darkness to appear by his side. He nodded, and then experienced the bizarre sensation of being led by a blind man, the rhythmic tapping of his stick surprisingly soothing, a strong arm linked with his, leading confidently.

“I need to know something,” Matt said, as he pressed him into the back seat of a car, fingers at Sam’s lips to prevent him from responding too soon, “I need to know if you have the energy to say one word. Just nod, or shake your head.”

Confused and fuzzy, the warmth of the softly grumbling car and the softness of the touch pulling him towards sleep, Sam nodded. One word, he could manage. As long as it wasn't a particularly difficult one.

“Good. Tell me to stop.” And Matt’s fingers slid to his cheek, coaxing him into a kiss Sam was sure he hadn’t earned, but he never wanted it to stop. He had no energy left to care about anything else in the world, but he would savor that moment with everything he had. He had wanted, and now he had, and he was aware he was pawing somewhat vaguely at Matt’s frustratingly clothed shoulder because they weren't close enough, damn it, he wasn't some sort of invalid. He was just tired, and a little worried about pushing things too far so when Matt took the hint and climbed onto his lap, he groaned in relief. The lips pressed against his curled into a smile he had to taste with his tongue and then they were really kissing, just a touch of teeth before they found their balance, a soft, wet press and slide that felt phenomenal and sounded indecent-

Sam set his hands on Matt’s shoulders and pushed. “We need to stop. We’re in a SHIELD car.”

“So, anywhere else is fine?” Matt’s indulgent smile was more gorgeous than ever, so close.

“More than fine,” Sam assured him. “Perfect, even. I- I'd like to see you again.”

The smile broadened, quirking up in one corner as Matt shifted to the side, back to his own seat. Sam suddenly felt very cold.

“I'd like that too. For you to see me.”

“And you can do whatever it is you do.” Sam, completely unable to help himself, found Matt’s hand where it rested on the seat and entwined their fingers. He was smiling too, an increasingly dopey expression he was only allowing himself to have because he knew that Matt couldn't see it.

“If you haven't figured out what it is I do yet, I think I'm doing it wrong,” Matt said, and even laughed softly as Sam admitted defeat in any form of verbal sparring, groaning and letting his head drop onto Matt’s shoulder.

“I'm sorry I nearly got you killed,” he managed to murmur, coherently enough for Matt to wrap an arm around him and squeeze.

“Well, I don't consider a night complete unless somebody tries to kill me. You actually saved me the job of finding someone.”

“That's healthy.”

“At least tonight I got gateau.”

“Chocolate,” Sam muttered almost to himself, a huge involuntary grin spreading across his face. He began to giggle helplessly, unable to stop himself from remembering Tony’s almost constipated expression, could feel something bubbling in his chest that needed to escape and if it wasn't a laugh, he thought he would cry. Vaguely, he recognized the comedown from adrenaline but identifying it wasn't enough to stop the effects. He had his hands fisted in Matt’s jacket, his face buried in his neck and his whole body was shaking with the force of his laughter while one arm wrapped around his back and fingers traced gentle patterns on the back of his neck.

He startled awake when the car stopped outside the tower, his face pressed up against a crease in fabric that hurt and he had no idea how he hadn’t noticed.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, to a small amused sound from Matt. The soft touches at his nape slowed, and he realized it had been going on the entire time. A belated shiver ran down his spine, his brain finally catching up with all the attention he didn't quite feel like he deserved, somehow. Just a few hours earlier he had been watching blood trickle down this man’s neck and it had been all his fault. Any normal date could easily have been killed.

“Has my jacket offended you?”

Sam was clinging. Hard. With clenched fists. He grimaced, and eased back. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright. I understand. I-” Matt paused, with a small grimace of his own, “I would have been the same. If it were you.”

“Well, I don't mean to be the bearer of bad news but you will probably have the chance at some point.”

Matt smiled, “Steer clear of British people when I’m not around.”

“You’ll still hear me scream, right?”

“Regardless of the reason.” Matt’s voice was low and somehow he managed to leer convincingly. Someday Sam was going to catalogue exactly how he saw the world, what he could and couldn’t sense. He also hoped he would have the chance before some sort of potential apocalypse or clone or timeline alteration intervened. Distracted, it took him a moment to realise just what Matt had actually said.

“That’s not true, is it?”

“Call my name and find out.” Matt smirked, leaned in for a surprisingly chaste kiss.

“You’re gonna kill me.” Sam whispered, pulled him in by his now thoroughly creased jacket for one more. Matt came willingly, was soft and pliant against him for a precious few moments.

“I’m not going to walk you to the door,” Matt pointed out, when Sam released him but made no effort to move.

“Can I call you? Or, you know-”

“Call. Don’t bother to text. Although of course, you'd have to be out of earshot. I’d settle for out of the car.”

Sam sighed. He really needed to get a grip. Not wanting to let somebody out of your sight on a first date hardly created a good impression. He felt lucky he hadn’t been caught out thus far- or if he had, Matt was giving him a break. He was a pretty good guy like that. And Sam wasn't going to ruin it. He reached for the door, made a frustrated sound and dived in for a final, brief kiss before stepping out into the cold.

“Oh, Sam?” Matt had buzzed the window down, had broken out the wide-eyed innocent look again.

“Yeah.”

“I think you might be gay.”

Sam rolled his eyes and laughed all the way to the front door.

**Author's Note:**

> Kind of thinking about a sequel to this. I have half-formed ideas that may or may not blossom into actual words.


End file.
